Christmas in Paris

Their plane had touched down on Christmas Eve. It was a long flight of sleep and movies, and he would have liked to have sit next to Jane, maybe work out the awkward encounter of when they met the day before and put themselves on better terms. He knew she was pretty bummed by her leaving. He would have liked to stay longer, maybe even the whole day. Work meant nothing to him anymore, and he almost didn't even go after leaving. It was nice to spend time with her. He didn't have much time to waste.

But the ticket he purchased was last-minute, bought the day before the flight, so it separated them. It let Logan fumigate in the poor way he handled the situation, regret even taking the drink in the first place. It would have never went down like that. It would have never went down like that. He'd see her sitting rows in front of him, only the side of the back of her head, and he'd wonder what she was thinking. If she was angry at him. It was a semi-quiet ride to the airport, after all. Maybe he didn't actually sleep too much. Maybe he'd tell her.

When the plane landed, he grabbed his luggage, a single bag, stretching to the heavens. He made his way down the narrow walkway to Jane, thankful to be getting out of the plane. Of course, all the issues of travel always began at times like these. Hailing a taxi, getting to and checking into the hotel. He tried to learn some basic French on the way there. "I'm never getting on another plane again," he said yawning, looking over her head at the closed compartment. "Need help?" She had to have more stuff than him.

She felt like she could've exploded in that plane seat.

Even after everything that had happened, all the awkwardness and unanswered questions, after getting up first thing in the morning, after being molested by airport security, it didn't change that she was going to be spending Christmas in Paris. She wasn't good at sitting still, or staying quiet, but she hadn't had much of a choice. Logan was on the other side of the plane, and she couldn't even see him unless she craned back to look. So Jane had spent most of the ten or so hours daydreaming and staring out the window when she wasn't napping.

They hadn't exactly left each other on a good note. The last time she'd talked to him before today, really talked to him, he'd shown up at her door, asked her to a vacation in France, smashed her glass on the table, and then ditched. It wasn't usually something she'd dwell on. So he was a bit of an oddball. It was alright. She knew that already.

But something was wrong. She knew that too, even if a part of her just wanted to ignore it. The way he acted, the way she acted, even if they were friends, sometimes it felt like they were practically two strangers. There was a forced distance wedged between them, something they both kept up to shield themselves. They'd revealed too much to each other back in that hall full of mirrors, but at the same time it only felt like a small glimpse into a bigger picture.

She'd been squirming in her seat the whole time, but when the plane finally touched down, there was a bit of surprise. Lost in her thoughts, she guessed... Jane would glad to be off this plane. Sitting down too long thinking would rot your brain. She needed to be more proactive.

Jane hopped out of her seat and bounced on her soles, stretching her arms back and forth. The whole plane experience had sounded more fun in her head. She was getting up on her tiptoes to reach for her bags when she heard his voice. A wave of relief washed over her. It was good not to be separated anymore. Even better, it was good to be able to talk without getting any dirty looks. "How about we take a boat back instead?" They could stowaway on a cruise ship and hope for the best. In the worst case scenario, the ship would go around for a world tour instead of dropping them off in America. It was the perfect plan, wasn't it? At least there, they wouldn't have to spend half the flight listening to screaming babies. "If you don't mind," she said, groping for the handle. If he could help. Why couldn't he be a few inches taller? Taller guys were cute and useful. Alas. All she had was a... well, it was a bit of a big bag, and stuffed until it was almost bursting, but what could you do? It was one of those roller bags, with the wheels and handles and all that, so it wouldn't be too much of a hassle, right? "Just don't let it drop on top of you." She wasn't sure if he'd be able to survive if he did, no matter what kind of regeneration he had.

Logan tried not to stand on his toes, something that would make him seem short, but it was grossly apparent and futile. Her bag was heavy and high up, and he had to practically rest it on his head for a brief moment to keep himself from toppling over or crushing the passing crowd beside him. But, he was able to bring it to a rest on the floor, giving her a tired smirk and massaging his neck. "You get the other one, I'll roll this." He demonstrated it by pulling out the handle, his own bag slung over his shoulder. It was heavy, but he'd be fine. He thought.

When they exited the plane, Logan walked through the tunnel, shielding his eyes as the afternoon Sun slashed through the windows, reminding him of how groggy he was. Planes sucked. Maybe that cruise wasn't such a bad idea. He tried his best to keep in toe with Jane as they walked through the airport, keeping a firm lip as he struggled under the bags. "We're almost to the gate," he reminded her, but it seemed more so that he was reminding himself.

The circle was accented with a bolded sign over the door, Porte 30, a dozen taxis accompanied by frantic suits. None of those taxis were for them. Logan set the bags down grimly. "Better call one." He looked around, seeing a nearby phone with an array of taxi numbers above it. He blinked. "Can you speak French?"

So they made it out of the plane without dying. That was something. Jane followed him out with her other pink and black backpack slung over her shoulder, keeping a jaunty pace just behind him despite their exhaustion. It was too exciting to be exhausted. Maybe she'd be able to convince him to down another coffee this time. She paused just beside him, sweeping her eyes over the taxis and absorbing all the sights and sounds. Her fingers drummed against the strap of her bag. "Oui, oui, monsieur," she said, giving a flourish of her hand. "Je suis la reine. Où est le vin? Ohonhonhon." Jane wiggled her eyebrows accordingly before breaking into a wide grin. "No, I can't speak French. I visited Montreal once though."

Logan seemed to believe her at first, but the brightness in his eyes was crushed with the realization that it was not a skill of hers. If only he had the time to learn some himself. Perusing the list, he rested on a number with two small letters next to it, en, and smiled. "There we go," the boy said half to himself, picking up the grimy phone gingerly and hovering it over his ear. He punched the numbers, and after a while, a accented voice appeared.
"Bonjour, Madam Julie's taxi cab service, how may I help you?"
"Hi, we are at the airport. We were looking to get a taxi to our hotel."
"Oui, oui." It seemed almost contrived. Even the accent seemed like a foreign speaker faking it. "Nous will be there, monsieur. 10 minutes, 10 minutes."
"Um, merci." There was a chuckle on the other line as Logan put down the phone, giving Jane a long face, confused as to how shady these people were. Whatever. Chances, chances.

"Look." He peered out the window, and directing her with a slight tug of the shoulder, pointed out the tip of a certain structure peeking over the closer buildings. "The Eiffel Tower. We're either in Paris, or a French-speaking Las Vegas." A short cough. He let it pass.

Jane pressed herself close to him as he pointed out the window to the structure rising in the distance. She'd seen it a million different times in photographs and movies, but it was like she was seeing it for the first time now that it was something physical in front of her. It was funny how that kind of thing worked, huh? She gave a small chuckle at his dumb joke. "Either one is fine with me. Do you want to hit the casinos? Shotgun wedding?" Paris, France. Somehow it still didn't feel real, even after getting off the plane. It might not be the Louvre, but going down the Las Vegas Strip sounded like a close second in terms of vacations.

"To you? Not really." He grinned, eyes fixed on the window. After a dozen or so taxis whirred by, he recognized the name on a particular one, and when he waved at the driver, the driver returned the gesture. He was a portly man with a bushy black mustache, and when he said 'Bonjour' to them, he recognized the guy as the same person on the phone. Small business.

Logan walked around to the trunk, and after a few moments, had to smack on it before he heard the click of it opening. He took his bags, cramming them into the small Toyota, as well as grabbing the ones Jane had been carrying. "Madame," he said as he did this, respectful like a butler, even nodding his head to her as he said it. Then, as this was completed, he got into the back seat, debating sitting in the front but feeling better to stay alongside Jane than the strange man.

"Merci for choosing Madame Julie's Taxi Cab Service," exclaimed the man who sounded and looked suspiciously Italian. "Where will I take you young lovers?"

"Hotel Balzac on 6 Rue Balzac," he said, reading the address off his phone, coughing a little in his hand as he tried to not sound too American. Especially with a funny name like 'Balzac.' He didn't correct the man's error, and even said, "Honeymoon suite."

"Married at such a young age?"

"Vegas is a crazy place."

The man chuckled, though Logan wasn't sure if he even got the joke from the excessive laugh. He began to pull away.

Not really? She was hurt. Jane gave him a light punch on his shoulder. "Wrong answer. I'm out of your league anyways."

She followed him out and let him take her bags, glancing around to drink in all the sights and sounds as he did his best to cram it all in the trunk. "I like the sound of 'madame,'" she said, climbing in the back seat after him. Jane didn't mind a butler, but he still had a few things to learn. Ladies first, for one. Maybe she ought to start carrying around a whip. She smiled at their chauffeur through the rear mirror. Young lovers, huh? There was an amused edge to her smile at the man's comment. Honeymoon suite in the city of love. No, sir, it wasn't like that at all. Cough. Her gaze turned out the window as they began to peel away from the airport and into the busy Paris streets.

Logan gave a glance over to Jane to see if she was enjoying the joke, but saw she was more so enjoying the scenery. He got the feeling he should too. People weren't the only thing to life; the things people leave behind are sometimes just as important. He looked out his own window, to the archaic European buildings making beige walls down the floral streets. He breathed. His lungs cracked. He coughed.

"So where are you from?" The man took a sip of his coffee, looking into his mirror.
"America," said Logan, absentmindedly to the window.
"I could tell that, idiot, I mean where in America? I've been there a few times." The insult was accented. Logan drew away from the window.
"I'm from Seattle."
"And the madame is as well?"
Logan swallowed. "Erm," he gave her a look. Shit, where was Jane from?

The cough caught her attention, and Jane turned to look at the driver and Logan. Now, now, that wasn't very courteous. She'd heard that Parisians were rude, but the insult still drew a small annoyed expression to her face. It was fleeting, fading back into the usual smile with a small, almost inaudible sigh. Seattle, right. Seattle. They'd had this conversation before once back at the arcade. "I'm from Maine," she answered. "Portland. Where are you from, sir?" She tilted her face oh-so-innocently, giving him a contemplative glance out of the corner of her eye with her head still resting on the glass. "Milan? Rome? Naples?"

"Avignon, belle." He gave a throaty laugh. "Why would I be Italian? That's preposterous, you're a silly girl."

There was a retort in there somewhere, and Logan opened his mouth to maybe speak one, but he was captivated as the buildings made way to a long garden, and the Eiffel Tower was in clear view. So he said nothing. It was better not to argue. They'd never see this man again anyway. Plus, he still wasn't sure if this man wasn't going to drive them to a dark alley and kill them.

"How did two people from opposite sides of America meet, I wonder?"
"Huh?
"You and the madame, monsieur. Man and Washton are far away, no?
"Oh. Um, we met at school in North Dakota."
"I'm sorry, I've never heard it."

Logan smiled at the glass as the driver turned. "Not many have."

"Oh, you're right," she said with a private smile. "I must have been confused. I can be pretty silly, sometimes." The streets here fanned out from the city core like a web, narrow and crowded with no rhyme or reason to them. Without their Avignonnais driver, she wouldn't have had the first idea of how to find their way to the hotel, especially if he decided to just dump them out right here. Maybe it was best not to press the issue about his heritage.

She returned her gaze to the window. Beata did have a way of bringing strange people together, didn't it?

It seemed sudden that the car had stopped. Logan thought the man decided to dump them, as Jane had been fearing, but the hotel was beside them, on Jane's side. Its door was on the corner, the walls pearl and adorned with lanterns. They were lit from the late afternoon. It really got dark quick at Winter.

Logan opened his door, rubbing the fresh cold away from his hands as he flattened himself against the car's body and advanced to the driver's window.

"18 Euros," he said with a sniff, almost hiding the price under his congestion. It was pretty steep, but Logan was too exhausted to barter. He dug into his pocket for his wallet, trying his best to be surreptitious as he counted the money and handed it over. The driver counted the money too, snorting. "Keep hold of that thing. 'Specially around the tower, lots of pickpocketers."

"Gotcha."

"And hold onto her." he whispered this, leaning in and covering his mouth, and Logan had to get close to the portly man, who smelled like smoke and cheap drycleaning.
"A smart one she is."

"Gotcha."

"Arrivederci." He winked, and Logan couldn't help but smirk. He made his way to the trunk, which had been opened, and began to take out bags, all the while breathing in Paris. It tasted like shit.

They were finally out of that car. Jane twirled around as she stepped out onto the curb, grinning from ear to ear. Paris air. It tasted wonderful. She walked to Logan's side, slinging one bag over her shoulder and struggling to pull out the roller, but managing to pull it out after a few moments of effort. Now that they'd touched down and arrived at their hotel, it felt like their trip had finally, really, seriously begun. They had the rest of winter break ahead of them. The thought made her head spin, a certain giddy thrill filling her every thought. Paris. They were really here.

"And now what, monsieur?" she asked with a small nudge to his arm. The bag's strap was cutting into her shoulder, and only a couple moments later, her back was aching. "We've got a lot of time to kill."

"Let's ditch these bags first," said Logan, looking around for one of those carts. He was successful in spotting a few tucked into a corner, and as he motioned for her to follow, a bellhop had opened the door. He spotted them and smiled. "Je vais prendre les," was what he said, and without knowing exactly what this meant, Logan assumed it was good and answered with a smile.  "607, Merci."
The bellhop gave him a smirk. "Américain?" Logan nodded, and the man shook his head with a laugh, taking the silver carrier to where Jane was. Logan thought about ignoring the service due to the guy's rudeness, but these bags were a bitch and a half, and it would get dark soon. He dropped his luggage onto the short platform.